The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  “I want a paternity test.”

  Tawny gasps, her hand resting protectively over her belly, but when I look back up to her face, I watch the transformation happen. I see the damsel in distress morph into the vindictive vixen. “This baby is yours, Colton. I don’t sleep around.”

  Colton snorts a laugh with a shake of his head. “Yeah, you’re a regular patron fuckin’ saint.” He stalks to the front door and turns back to look at her. “Go tell it to some other gullible son of a bitch who cares. My lawyer will be in touch.”

  “You’re gonna have to come at me with something a hell of a lot bigger than threatening me with your attorney to get out of this one,” she says, straightening her spine. “Get your checkbook ready and your ego prepared for some serious damage, sweetheart!”

  “Did you actually think you could just waltz in here, drop your bullshit bomb, and I’d take your word for it? Write you off with a hefty check or marry you and ride off into the motherfucking sunset?” His voice thunders. “It’s. Not. Mine!”

  Tawny shrugs her shoulders and a smarmy expression transforms her features. “The press is going to have a field day with how I spin this one … a nice juicy scandal to sink their teeth into.”

  She starts to walk toward the front door and just when I think I might be able to take a breath, Colton’s palm slams against the door, the sound assaulting the dead silence of the room. He turns and gets back within inches of her face, his voice trembling with rage. “Newsflash, sweetheart, you better hit me with something stronger than that threat if you think the press scares me. Two can play that game,” he says opening the door. “Make sure you tell them all the juicy details because I sure as fuck won’t hold back. It’s amazing how quick a promising career can be dashed in this town when rumors hit the papers about what a demanding diva one can be. No one wants to work with a fucking bitch, and you definitely fit that bill. Now get the fuck out.”

  Tawny walks up to him, stares at him, although he refuses to meet her eyes, and then walks out the front door that shuts with a resounding slam behind her. Colton immediately grabs one of the vases on the sideboard he’d hit moments earlier and throws it against the wall. The shattering sound of glass followed by tinkling as it bounces off the tiled floor is such a contrast to the heaviness of the moment. Not getting the release he needed, he places his hand on the sideboard and braces his weight against it.

  I step forward from the shadows of the foyer, still not sure what to do when he looks up and locks his eyes with mine. I try to get a read his emotions but I can’t—his guard is back up and locked in place. The knowledge of how much work it’s going to take to break that wall back down causes a little piece of me to die, to die and fall to rest beside the piece that broke off the day the doctor told me it’d be nothing short of a miracle for me to get pregnant again.

  The emptiness of my womb hits me again as I walk toward him. He watches me, jaw ticking, body tense. “Colton … I—”

  “Rylee,” he warns, “back the fuck off!”

  “What if it’s true? What if you guys really did and you don’t remember?” It’s the only coherent thought I can verbalize, my mind spinning with what-ifs and never-going-to-bes.

  “Why?” He turns to face me, and I swallow nervously. “So you can play house?” He takes a step toward me and the look in his eyes has me cringing. “Because you want a baby so bad that you can taste it? Would do anything to have one? Take one that might or might not be mine so you can sink your hooks in me too? Get the best of both worlds, huh? A hefty sum and a baby—every woman’s fucking dream.” His words whip out and slap me, rip apart the part of me that knows I would do anything to have the chance to have a baby. “It’s not true!” His voice thunders at me. “It’s not true,” he says again in too calm of a voice.

  I’m stuck in place—wanting to run, wanting to stay, hurting for me, devastated for him—at a crossroads of uncertainty, and all I want to do is curl into a ball and shut the world out. Shut Colton out, and Tawny out, and the ache that will never go away, to feel a baby move within me. To create something out of love with someone I love. Bile threatens at the thought, and I cover my mouth as I gag audibly to prevent myself from puking.

  “Yeah, the thought of me being a dad makes me want to puke too.” He sneers at me, so much more than contempt lacing his voice. And that’s not why I’m going to be sick, but I can’t tell him that because I’m too busy trying not to be. “Between the sheets.” He belts out a patronizing laugh, looking up at the ceiling before looking back at me. “How fucking ironic is it when it’s between the sheets with someone else that’s causing this little dilemma, huh, Ryles? How’s that phrase working for ya now?”

  “Fuck you.” I say it more to myself than to him, a quiet voice laced with hurt. I’ve had it. He can be upset. His horrible past can be dredging through his mind, but that doesn’t give him the right to be a fucking asshole and take his shit out on me.

  He turns to look at me, a picture of fury against the tranquility behind him. “Exactly.” He spits out. “Fuck me.”

  And with those parting words, Colton yanks open the door to the deck. I don’t call out to him—don’t care to—and watch him jog down the stairs to the beach with a whistle beckoning Baxter.

  THE LONGER I SIT AND wait for him to come back the more nervous I become.

  And more pissed.

  I’m nervous because besides his swim earlier, Colton hasn’t exercised since being cleared … and he was only cleared yesterday. I know his anger will push him to run harder, faster, longer, and that only unnerves me because how much can the healing vessels in his brain withstand? It’s been almost an hour since he left, how much is too much?

  And I’m pissed that after everything he said to me, I even care.

  I shake my head, the words he said to me rattling around as I look down the stretch of beach. I get his anger, the inherent need to lash out over his rather fragile hold on his preconceptions, but I thought we were past that. Thought that after everything we’ve been through in our short time together that I’d proven otherwise to him. Proven that I am not like other women. That I need him. That I will never manipulate him to get what I want like so many other women in his life have. That I will not abandon him. And I so desperately want to leave right now—escape the argument and further hurt I fear will happen upon his return—but I can’t. More than ever I need to prove to him right now that I’m not going to run when he needs me the most, even if the thought of him having a child with someone else is killing me now.

  I swallow the bile that wants to resurface again, and this time I can’t hold it down. I run to the bathroom and upset the contents of my stomach. I take a moment to compose myself, talk myself down from the ledge I want to leap from because this is too much for me. So many things are happening in such a short amount of time that my mind wants to shut off.

  But if it’s true, what does that mean? To him as a person and us as a couple and to me as the woman who can’t ever give him that? And especially given to him by her? My stomach revolts at the thought again, and all I can do is drop my forehead on the lid of the toilet, squeeze my eyes close, and shut out images of an adorable little boy with inky hair, emerald eyes, and a mischievous smile. A little boy I’ll never be able to give him.

  But she can. And if that’s the case, how in the fuck am I going to be able to handle it? Love the man but not the baby that’s his because I’m not the mother—simply because he’s part Tawny—now what kind of horrible person would that make me? And I know that’s not true, know I could never not love a child because of circumstances he has no control over, but at the same time, there would be that constant devastating reminder of what someone else can give him that I can’t.

  The ultimate gift.

  Unconditional love and innocence.

  I wipe away the tears I didn’t even realize were falling when I hear the distant bark of Baxter and make my way out onto the deck. The harmless beast of a dog clears the top of the s
tairs coming up from the beach and plops down exhausted on the deck with a groan. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for Colton’s arrival, unsure which version of him I will be facing.

  Within moments he appears, hair dripping with sweat, cheeks red, and chest heaving from the exertion. I want to ask how he’s feeling, where his head is, but I think better of it. I’ll let him set the tone of this conversation.

  He looks up and I see the shock flicker across his features when he sees me. He stands, hands propped on his hips, and just stares at me for a beat. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

  So that’s how this is going to be.

  I thought I had calmed down, hoped that he had with his run, but obviously we’re both still bound with a barbed wire ball of hurt. We’re both still hell-bent on proving our points. The question is how is he going to handle what I have to say? Is he going to lash out again? Rip me apart for a second time? Or is he going to realize that despite Tawny’s bombshell, our figurative race doesn’t stop? That we can withstand the collateral damage?

  “You don’t get to run anymore, Colton.” I hope my words—words he’d used with me before—will hit their target and sink in.

  He stops mid-stride beside my chair but keeps his head angled down to avoid looking at me. “You don’t fucking own me, Ry. You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do any more than Tawny can.” His voice is a whisper but his words sucker punch me.

  “Non-negotiable, remember?” I warn him with challenge I don’t feel reflected in my eyes. He just stands there impatiently, muscles tense, and I feel compelled to continue. To either stop or start the fight brewing between us. “You’re right.” I shake my head. “I don’t own you … nor do I want to. But when you’re in a relationship, you don’t get to hurt someone because you’re hurting and then bail. There are consequences, there are—”

  “I told you, Rylee …” He turns to face me now, his eyes still averted, but the tone of his voice—one of pure disgust—has me rising to my feet. “I do as I damn well please. It’s best you remember that.”

  “Colton …” It’s all I can manage, feeling like I’ve been knocked back a few steps by his sudden assertion, his sudden need to grab his life that he feels is spiraling out of control. But he doesn’t get it. It’s not just his life anymore. It’s my life too! This is about the man I love and the possibilities I feel. This is killing me just as much as it is him, but he’s too wrapped up in his own head to see differently. I force a swallow as I try to find the words to tell him this, to show him we’re both hurting, not just him. But I’m too slow. He beats me to the punch.

  “You tell me we’re in a relationship, Rylee … Are you sure it’s what you want because this is how my life goes,” he shouts, his body moving restlessly with all of his negative energy. “The charmed life of Colton fuckin’ Donavan. For every up there’s a motherfucking free fall down. For every good there’s a goddamn bad.” He takes a step toward me, trying to antagonize me and push my buttons. I dig my nails in my palms to remind myself to let him get it off of his chest. To let him blame everyone in the world if need be, so he can calm down, realize this is not the end of his world, despite it feeling like it is for me. “Are you ready for that kind of spin on the track of my life?” He finishes, the sarcasm dripping from his words as he steps within a few feet of me. I can feel the anger vibrate off of him, can sense his desperation at which straw to grab and hold onto to get me to react. I force a swallow and shake my head.

  “Okay,” I say, drawing the word out, buying time as I try to think of what to say. “What is the good and the bad then?”

  “The good?” he asks, his eyes widening as sweat drips down his torso. “The good is I’m alive, Rylee. I’m fucking alive!” He shouts, thumping his chest with his fist. I cringe as his voice rings in my ears. He mistakes my reaction and feeds off of it. “What? Did you think I was actually going to say you?” I tell myself not to cry, tell myself that’s not the answer I was hoping for, but who am I kidding? Did I really think that in the midst of all of this he’d hold onto me as his strength? His reason? I can hope, but for a man so used to relying on himself, I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “You think you can waltz in here and play house, nurse me back to health, and all my troubles—all my fucking demons—are going to disappear? I guess Tawny just proved that theory wrong, huh?” He laughs a patronizing chuckle that eats tiny holes in what resolve I still have left. “The perfect fucking world you think exists, sure as fuck doesn’t. You can’t make lemonade with a lemon that’s rotting from the inside out.”

  And I’m not sure which hurts more, the acid eating at my stomach, his anger hitting my ears, or the ache squeezing my heart. The aftershock left by Tawny turns into a full-blown earthquake of disbelief and pain as my thoughts spin out of control and slam headfirst into the wall just like Colton did. But this time the collateral damage is too much to handle as it all comes crashing down around me. My stomach heaves again as I try to grasp on to something, anything, to give me an iota of hope.

  I need air.

  I can’t breathe.

  I need to get away from all of this.

  I take a few steps backwards, needing to escape, and stumble against the railing. I fight the need to throw up again, my hands squeezing the wood beneath my fingers as I try to steady myself.

  “You don’t get to run anymore, Rylee, we’re in a relationship. Aren’t those your rules?” His mocking voice is closer than I expect and something about the way he says them, the intimacy laced with sarcasm, sets me off.

  I whirl around. “I’m not running, Colton! I’m hurting! Fucking falling apart because I don’t know what to say or how to respond to you!” I scream. “I’m fucking pissed that I’m angry at you for being so goddamn callous because you’re right! I would give anything to have a baby. Anything! But I can’t and the thought that someone can give you the one fucking thing that I can’t is tearing me apart.”

  I bring my hands up to my head and just hold them there for a moment as I try to stop crying, as I try to collect the thoughts I need to say. I lift my head and meet his eyes again. “But you know what? Even if I could, I would never use or manipulate you to get one. I am not fucking Tawny, and I am not the poor excuse of life your mother was.” Tears stream down my face and I look at him, standing there stunned by my outburst through my blurred vision.

  He starts to say something, and I raise a hand to stop him, needing to finish what I have to say. “No, Colton, I’m not running and I’m not leaving you, but I don’t know what to do. I have no fucking clue! Do I stay here and let you rip me apart more? I’m dying inside, Colton. Can’t you see that?” I wipe the tears from my eyes and shake my head, needing some kind of reaction from him. “Or do I just leave? Give us a couple of days to fix the shit that’s fucked up in our own heads? So I don’t resent you for getting a choice when I don’t. So you realize I’m not like every other woman who’s ever used you.”

  I take a step toward him, the man I love, and I wish I could do something—anything—to ease the turmoil inside of him, but know that I can’t. I can sense he’s at a breaking point just like I am, that being faced with the possibility of a child is more than even he—a man who has survived so much—can bear, but I’m at a loss how to help when I’m filled with turmoil too.

  The muscle in his jaw pulses as I watch him struggle to remain in control over his emotions, his anger, his need for release and wish I could do something more for him because if my heart is breaking, then I can’t imagine what his is doing. And the only thing I think I can do is give us some space … let us calm down … figure ourselves out so we can be good again.

  Find us again.

  I take another step toward him and he finally raises his eyes to meet mine so I can read what he’s feeling. And maybe it’s the fact that we really know each other now, have broken down each other’s walls, because regardless of how hard he’s trying to mask his emotions I can read every single one of them flickeri
ng through his eyes. Fear, anger, confusion, shame, concern, uncertainty. The truth is there—what I knew would be—he’s pushing me, daring me to run to prove to him I am in fact what he perceives all other women to be. And at the same time, I see remorse swimming there, and a small part of me sighs at the sight, gives me something to hold on to.

  He takes a step toward me so we stand close but don’t touch. I can see the emotion flickering across his face, how his muscles tense as he tries to contain everything I see in his eyes. I fear if I touch him, we’ll both break and right now one of us needs to be strong.

  It has to be me.

  “Look at me, Colton,” I tell him, waiting for his eyes to find mine again. “It’s me, the one who races you. The one who’ll fight tooth and nail for you. The one who will do anything—anything—to make that hurt in your eyes and the pain in your soul disappear … make Tawny’s accusation go away … but I can’t. I can’t be anything to you until you stop pushing me away.” I step closer, wanting to reach out and touch him and erase the pain in his eyes. “Because all I want to do is help. I can handle you being an asshole. I can handle you taking your shit out on me … but it’s not going to fix things. It’s not going to make Tawny or the baby or anything else go away.” I choke on the tears that fill my throat. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  “Rylee …” It’s the first time he’s spoken and the desperation in the way he says my name with such anguish sends chills up my spine. “My head’s pretty fucked up right now.” I force a swallow down my throat and nod my head so he knows I hear him. He closes his eyes for a beat and sighs aloud. “Look I—I … I need some time to get it straight … so I don’t push you farther away … I just …”